Morning Grey
by fiesa
Summary: Side B. Whatever Aya does to keep in shape, it works. Drabble.


**Morning Grey**

_Summary: Side B. Whatever Aya does to keep himself fit, it works. Drabble. _

_Warning: who needs plot, anyway!_

_Set: Story-unrelated._

_Disclaimer: Standards apply. _

_For Laurose, who returns even for my stories that aren't Weiss Kreuz at all. __And a Merry Christmas to everyone._

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><p>Morning grey hangs heavy and wet over the city.<p>

Fog. The English word's _fog._ But _morning grey, _in Ken's opinion, fits it better: this aura of softness, greyness, like a scrim diffuser. Not that the tall man is poetically versed whatsoever. He just likes the game with words. English is a pretty language, full of possibilities, and yet somewhat edgy and sharp compared to the Japanese that flows from his tongue so effortlessly. Words still escape him, now and then, even though he learns to make himself clearer with each passing day. Almost half a year has passed since he came here but he still has problems now and then. He makes up for his missing vocabulary with a wide grin and an even wider range of swear words.

Aya glares at him whenever he uses them near Yuki and Michel.

It is_ fog, _or _mist,_ or whatever word can be used to describe the thick layer of wetness that has draped itself over the streets. Ken can barely see the tower of the old church on the other side of the park, just across the river. Even the sounds of the ringing bells are muted. In this early-morning haze of an autumn day, while darkness yet has to lift completely, he jogs along the street and watches the world behind its cool veil. The lights of the tower crane, high above the construction site on top of the great hills he can so clearly see from his bedroom window but who are distant and almost hidden from here, are red flames in a grey world. Their light is dimmed, too, and yet has the quality of fiery eyes staring down at him. _Here be dragons. _Or of beacons. Maybe they guide, someone, somewhere, their glow a steady stream of warm, red light. The world ends at the river bank, the houses on the other side of the river are completely obscured. Heavy dampness hits him in the face as he passes through the fog. The air is humid enough to feel like the flower shop on very hot days but the warmness is missing. Ken is wearing a T-shirt only but he keeps moving. The cool air on his bare arms makes him shiver, dries his sweat to cold dampness and yet is reviving.

There is nothing better than starting a day by meeting it head-on.

There are barely people on the street. It is early morning, on a Sunday, and even though sleeping in was a tempting alternative for Ken today he felt too restless, too awake, to turn around and fall asleep again. Maybe it was because of those Welsh patriots that had attacked Kurumi a day before. Maybe he just was too full of thoughts to fall asleep again. Maybe he was imagining things. Whatever it was, it melted away when he picked up speed, his legs and arms moving rhythmically. His breathing was calm. Ken loved running, always had. He was a soccer player, deep down, and as such stamina was sorely needed. He was more than a simple athlete, of course, but his roots always were visible in the way he moved. His legs were a strong, firm connection to the ground, ready to carry him everywhere, his chest was broad and his shoulders were wide. He had strong arms, too, since his weapon of choice depended on it. But those muscles had come later. Now he ran, still speeding up, and turning abruptly into a thin path that lead away from the streets and into the park.

No people anywhere near. Ken shook off the last restraints he placed on himself daily.

There was something in the way the wind tore at his hair that made running a soothing, calming sport. Playing soccer made him high, kicked up his adrenaline and increased his happiness. Fighting was similar, pushing up his energy levels until he shook with the force of suppressed strength and racing adrenaline. Training with Aya, on the other hand, was something entirely different, a mixture of a puzzle, a game and a test. Fighting with his long-time partner, Ken was able to evaluate his own physical and psychical condition – and Aya's, as well. Which, sometimes, was necessary, since the bastard wouldn't ever tell when something was bugging him. No, Ken had to beat it out of him first. But Aya had changed since they had come here. Ken, who knew him best of the entire Side B team, could see the changes Aya had undergone, the softness with which he regarded Yuki and Michel, the consideration he showed towards Kurumi. The patience with which he handled Chloe, and the care he took not to offend anyone's feelings even when he had to make them do things they didn't want to do. Since he knew Aya best – and since he was his partner, too, and as such has a certain responsibility – Ken had made it his job to check on their team leader. Without the other one noticing, of course. Aya's feelings always ran deep and fighting him was a way for Ken to evaluate his best friend and partner's thoughts. But sometimes their mutual training sessions were simple fun. A challenge. And a test for Ken's patience, too, for Aya didn't believe in _let's get over with it_. Aya did everything painstakingly correct. Aya the fussy, Aya the fastidious. But there was more to it. Years after their first meeting, Ken had finally realized that it was what made them such good partners: Aya always had the patience he sometimes lacked. Aya had the finesse, especially now, years after the whole Takatori disaster. Aya had changed but he had changed for the better. In return, Ken had the ability to improvise, the short-sightedness which sometimes was necessary when fighting for their lives and which Aya rarely showed. Ken made the split-second decisions that only considered them, not the entire team, while Aya took care of the bigger picture. Ken drew out the enemy, Aya made it spill its secrets, then they took care of it together. They were good together. Fighting alongside Aya was fulfilling. Fighting _with _Aya was exhilarating, time and time again. But running – now, running was something completely different.

While running, Ken was able to stop thinking.

Maybe it was that. There was no yesterday and no tomorrow on his path, no hate, no doubt, no guilt, no fear. It was just him and his feet which barely seemed to touch the ground. Sometimes he felt like flying, like leaving behind all his sorrows and troubles. _Who are you? _– Didn't matter. _What have you become?_ – Unimportant. _Will you die the way you deserve to? _– Perhaps, most probable, even, but right now, nothing counted. Ken heard the sound of his harsh breathing and the rushing of his blood in his ears and sped up one last time, knowing full well that he would be able to run for at least another mile. Still, he stopped as he reached the end of the path where the little graveled path ended in brown, wet grass and sloped off towards the river. He walked a few paces until he felt the wetness under his sneakers, then stopped beside a young tree on the side of the path. Autumn had already robbed him of all his green. The red, golden and brown leaves were beautiful, strewn all over the ground. Ken did some stretching, careful not to cool down too much. His heart rate had just normalized again as someone stepped out of the trees, appeared from the fog like a ghost. Ken blinked in surprise. On the path stood Aya, in a T-shirt, pants and running shoes, and seemed painfully out of place there. His hair fell into his eyes, not long enough to be pulled back into the pony-tail he had worn so long ago, not short enough to stay out of his eyes. Unperturbed by Ken's frown, he walked up without a word.

Running with Aya was strange, in many ways.

Ken started slowly as to not exhaust his partner early. There was a clear difference between their training methods. Ken, who fought close combat – even full-body contact – had a different training method than Aya with his katana. Hell, _everyone_ of them had a different schedule, Michel's training could be compared to Chloe's as little as Ken's could be compared to Aya's. But whatever Aya did every morning to keep in shape – it worked. He kept up Ken's pace easily, not even breathing hard. Ken grinned and picked up speed. Aya kept up. Ken started using walls and other inanimate objects as obstacles and hurdles. Aya followed his example effortlessly. In the greyness of the fog around them, he seemed like a dark shadow, his flame-red hair standing out and yet muted in color. Instinctively Ken ducked as something hurled at him and something that looked suspiciously like one of Free's tarot cards, edges sharpened to dangerous blades, passed his face by centimeters. Grinning, Ken stopped dead, surprising Aya who had to come to a halt first before turning to face him.

"Want to play? Let's get it over with!"

Suddenly breaking into a dead run, Ken sped away, but not fast enough to hide the huge grin that suddenly seemed to light up the day. Challenges were what he loved most and a challenge by Aya was valued above anything. On the run, he'd be able to put some tactics of his own into use, as well...

A tiny smile painted itself onto Aya's face as he followed, already planning for new surprises.


End file.
